


Shed a Sweet Light

by andwhatyousaid



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Chanukah, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andwhatyousaid/pseuds/andwhatyousaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wants a proper Chanukah with Liam. The only problem is that he's not quite sure where to start. Luckily, Ben's there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shed a Sweet Light

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://andwhatyousaid.tumblr.com/post/68949364675/i-really-appreciate-you-doing-this-harry-says). Now appropriately backdated and added to the archive. Happy Chanukah, fandom. Apologies for any typos &c. Disclaimer: Still 100% fiction. Thanks for reading!

"I really appreciate you doing this," Harry says for what must be the tenth time since Ben's walked in Harry's front door from the freezing chill in his coat and scarf, and past the foyer all the way through to Harry’s massive front room.

"It's not a problem," Ben tells him distractedly, counting the long thin blue and white candles in his hands; it's hard to believe it's already the sixth night, it's gone so quick. Good thing Harry gave him a ring before Chanukah was finished completely. Good thing Ben had a couple ages old spare menorahs held up in one of his empty cabinets, too.

He glances up when Harry doesn't say anything and the silence ticks on between them. Harry's already looking straight back at him — his mouth parted and his eyelids lowered, looking like words are on the tip of his tongue but he's in no hurry.

Liam interrupts them before Harry can get there anyway, calling from the kitchen, "Hazza, what's the difference between like, golden brown and dark brown? There isn't really one, right? How long am I meant to wait before flipping these again?"

Ben can just see the back of Liam's shoulders stretching out his thin dark henley over Harry's breakfast bar from where Ben's stood by the fireplace. Liam's head's down like he's staring in concentration at the sizzling flat skillet, the back of his short hair gleaming in the overhead bright stove top lights. His trained focus probably isn't helped by Harry saying, "You should be flipping them already. Like, regularly. Remember? That website said so. Do you need me to —"

"No," Liam says, "No, I've got it, you do the thing — the, whatsit, men-or-ah." He twists to look over his shoulder, shoots Ben a grin that's all teeth, his whole face lighting up. "Did I get it right?" he asks, sounding a bit eager. Then he bites his lip. His fringe's falling soft onto his forehead from the steam rising in thin translucent clouds out of the skillet.

"Yeah," Ben says, and clears his throat, looking away, though his eyes only find Harry's next, still stood right in front of him. Harry's smiling too, his dimples slowly deepening in his cheeks. "You two're catching on quite quick, aren't you?" Ben says.

"The latkes will be the true test, though," Harry says seriously, but his mouth twitches like it wants to rise up on one end and go crooked with his smile again.

"If that's the case," Liam says, "mate, you might wanna help me out so I don't bollocks it up."

"Already? I've been trusting you," Harry says, and even in his slow low voice it's easy to tell he’s teasing. He's only been fiddling uselessly with a cheap streamer that's got a massive tissue paper dreidel stapled to the end of it — not hanging it up or anything, just turning it over and over in his hands between asking Ben to repeat the prayer they'll have to say in a bit, and then asking him what each Hebrew word means — but he passes the streamer to Ben anyway as if to tell him to take over before moving to the kitchen. Ben tosses it down into the box by his feet on the floor filled with other Chanukah-themed decorations Harry’s bought — giant stars of David, white and blue strings of lights, a velcro menorah with matching velcro candles to stick on.

Once Ben sets the real candles in the real menorah and his hands are empty, he turns around to squint past the breakfast bar into the kitchen again. Harry's in front of the skillet now, but Liam's right behind him, his arm slung over Harry's shoulders and his face ducked so close to Harry's that they almost look like a two headed monster from the back. Their long skinny legs are pressed against each other too — connected right at the hip, though they don't seem to notice.

"Not to worry," Ben says, walking into the kitchen too. "Can't really screw up me mum's recipe. Believe me, I've tried."

They both glance to him, laughing, matching grins on their faces — the only difference being Liam's eyes crinkling while Harry's dimples bloom unashamed — and Ben can't look for long, so he focuses instead on the batch of latkes that they've already finished, resting in a pile of paper-towels on a vintage ceramic plate the size of Ben's head; the latkes look just right — crisp and golden and not too thin or thick. The whole kitchen smells like grease and potatoes and pepper, but it's a familiar smell for Ben, and he doesn't mind at all, especially not when Liam scoots to Harry's other side to make room for Ben at the stove, and they finish off the last of their batch together.

Then Ben takes out the unopened applesauce and sour-cream from the Harry's stainless steel fridge, and they eat standing around in their socks in the kitchen.

After, they dim all of the lights in the front room, and when they're stood in front of the mantle above the fireplace again, Ben carefully passes Liam his Bic lighter. Liam flicks it to life easily, practiced, and the bottom of his face catches in the warm glow when he holds the flame to the shamus until the wick takes and burns. Before Liam can lift the shamus to the other candles, Harry's reaching around Liam's shoulder, tugging Liam backwards into his chest, and saying, "It's my turn to give it a go, this was my idea anyway."

Liam laughs, and it's infectious so Ben huffs a laugh and grins too. Liam doesn't step away or stop Harry, seems content to let Harry move around him — seems content like Ben is to watch Harry's long fingers gently tug the candle free from the center holder and lift it to the first fresh candle waiting on the right. Ben starts the prayer as soon as the candles touch.

They have to go over the words a few times, not that Ben minds; he goes as slow as they need, patiently enunciating, even well after all the candles are lit. Both Liam and Harry keep alternatively stumbling over the foreign words on their tongues and then laughing at one another and themselves, but they carry on determinedly, incorrectly trying to correct each other.

At the end, Harry offers Liam a low-five in the resounding silence and Liam slaps his hand without having to look, saying, "Nice," in a quiet voice. "Smashed it."

"Reckon you lot didn't do too bad for a first time," Ben tells them, watching the wax melt off the candles rather than their faces.

"That's really it?" Harry says.

Liam must elbow him because Harry makes an _oof_ and Ben catches the flash of a flailing plaid limb in his peripheral. "What do you mean 'that's it?'" Liam says, "How many times did we have to say _b'mitz-vo-tav v't-zi-van-u_ before we could get on with it?"

"I just want to do it properly," Harry says, and Ben's looking at them again, so he sees Harry dig his fingers into Liam's side until Liam squirms, his face breaking open with a laugh. "Won't you have some respect for my faith, Liam. Honestly."

"Right, not like you didn't have a bloody clue what to do until you rang Ben, is it?" Liam says. Then he twists away, snatches up one of the loose streamers still on the floor and stuffs it down the front of Harry's gaping flannel.

By the time it's all over with, Ben isn't sure what the worst part of it is — maybe having had to watch Liam and Harry roll around all over the floor across the massive paper stars of David while Ben prayed to himself as Liam's loose joggers fell continuously lower off his hips until his entire bum had been visible in his pants and Harry's flannel got so twisted up across his chest that Ben's pretty sure a button or two must've popped free; or maybe it was Liam and Harry getting tangled in the strings of lights and their own long legs, their thighs interlocking when Liam pinned Harry and shoved the soft plush velcro menorah into Harry's face only for both of them to laugh like they wouldn't have it any other way; could easily be now, though — the two of them out of breath and splayed on their backs on the floor, their faces a little flushed, and their hair definitely mussed, the low lights from the burning candles and the dark outside making their mouths look quite pink in contrast to their tanned faces.

Ben's fairly sure he can see Liam's dick if he squints hard enough since Liam's joggers are all but caught around his thighs now — not that Liam seems to notice at all, too busy exhaling the last remnants of a laugh with his arms above his head, isn't he — and Harry's grinning full on up at the ceiling like he's just had the best gig of his life or went for a very satisfying workout or been fucked stupid, nearly every tattoo on his body in plain sight, so Ben forces a laugh at the pair of them and then excuses himself for a cigarette out on Harry’s open patio.

The fresh sharp burst of cold wind wakes Ben up, takes him out his head, and the first inhale helps even more. It's easy to get lost in the pull of smoke, breathing in for as long as he can hold it before releasing and watching it swirl away into the distance. Harry hasn’t got any neighbors for miles, and his back garden expands endlessly in the dark, the grass like a stretch of black ice. The only thing Ben hasn’t taken into consideration, he realizes, when he hears the sliding door open behind him and twists to look, is that Liam’s picked up the habit too.

Liam shuts the door behind himself and hunches his shoulders against the cold, tucks his hands under his armpits while he gives Ben a smile. Liam hasn't put on a coat or anything, and he must be freezing, bouncing on the balls of his feet, but he says, "Got a light?" casual as anything, jerking his chin at Ben bringing his hand up to his mouth for another drag.

Ben only hesitates a brief moment before shrugging his jacket off and setting it over Liam's shoulders instead with both hands, rubbing Liam's shoulders for warmth, holding his cigarette in his mouth between his teeth. Liam tries to protest, takes half a step away, saying, "I'm alright, it’s alright, you need it too," but Ben says, "Take it," muffled from being unable to open his mouth, and then Liam stops and does.

He absolutely drowns in the jacket once he slips his arms through. Ben laughs quietly at the sight, and Liam laughs too. He nuzzles his cheek and chin into the sheepskin at the collar, looking disarmingly coy, and says, "Quite comfy. Cheers, mate."

Ben hardly feels the cold now, so he doesn't mind. He makes to tap out another cigarette from his pack for Liam, but Liam must've had one tucked behind his ear, ready to go, because when Ben glances to Liam next, it's already between his pursed lips. He raises his eyebrows at Ben, and Ben takes the hint — lights the end of the cigarette for him until it cherries.

It's hard to look away from Liam exhaling in a long unbroken stream, the smoke curling up around his face in the dark like it’s going to caress him, but Ben's own cigarette running hot and quick down to the filter between his fingers draws his attention away. He flicks the ash that's collected off to the side and then takes a last pull that doesn't linger nearly long enough before he crushes it out against the wall adjacent to the sliding door. It’s too cold to wander very far away.

"Wanna share?" Liam asks just as Ben's thinking he should head inside. Liam has his pointer and middle fingers pressed to his mouth around the cigarette, his chest expanding from breathing in deep, and he's looking right at Ben.

Then the door slides open and it jars Ben away from staring at Liam, breaking the moment.

"Christ, it's proper cold out," Harry says. He's stood in the doorframe, the light from inside illuminating him, touching the top of his head like a halo as he squints out at them.

"Not so cold for me," Liam says. He opens half of Ben’s jacket up in invitation, and Harry darts forward into him, not bothering to shut the door. At first, Harry tries to fit his arm inside one of the sleeves with Liam and it nearly works, but it also almost makes Liam drop his cigarette so Liam's laugh cuts off and he frowns instead, almost whining when he tells Harry to watch it.

"Yeah, alright, no need to fuss, Payne," Harry says without any bite. He fits himself into Liam's side instead, lets the jacket with Liam's arm in it drape over him.

They're back to being a two-headed monster like that. It's easy to see they’'e nearly the same height too, but Ben feels miles taller. And older, he reminds himself, watching Liam take another pull.

"Aren't you going to offer?" Harry says. He's looking at Liam, and Harry elbows him when Liam only makes a distracted questioning _hmm_ around his exhale, smoke escaping from his nose, raising his eyebrow. "Did he not offer you either?" Harry asks, glancing at Ben. "Quite rude, isn't he," Harry says, his mouth separating with his grin.

Before Ben can ask what Harry’s on about, Liam's saying, "Sorry, Hazza. Here, go on," and Ben watches Liam take another quick pull before Harry tilts his face to meet Liam's, hardly having to move from how close they're stood, and their lips barely seem to touch as Liam breathes out into Harry's open waiting mouth. Liam's hands holding Harry's jaw to him, his cigarette tucked between his fingers. It must not last for as long as it seems to for Ben — which is absolute ages and ages and ages, for fuck's sake — because Harry doesn't blow out much smoke into the open air after he pulls away.

"To be fair," Liam says, bringing his hand to his mouth again, "I did offer to share with Ben." He takes a drag, his mouth pursing, and shrugs. "But he never gave me an answer."

"He didn't?" Harry says. He looks away from Liam and to Ben again, his eyelids lowered like always, like they'd been by the fireplace earlier.

"Getting quite cold, isn't it?" Ben says before anyone can say anything else. "Right, should probably get inside."

For a moment, Ben thinks they might disagree, might argue, might come over and jointly shotgun him the last pull Liam's taking whether Ben protests or not, but then Liam's nodding as if to say _right, yeah_ and killing his cigarette against the wall like Ben had done.

Harry says, “We’ve got dreidels to play,” so they bundle inside.

Ben had brought a massive container of chocolate gelt along with a handful of dreidels, so there's more than enough to go round and divide between them once they start to play. After the first few rounds, Liam and Harry get the hang of spinning the dreidels, and even start to memorize what the Hebrew inscribed on each side stands for. Though, Harry keeps saying he’s won the whole pot even if he hasn’t, and then Liam challenges him to a spin off, so they get distracted spinning the tops for as long as they can manage.

Liam's got a better technique — lighter with his fingers, and perhaps more determined, so he wins by a landslide three times in a row, and then starts crowing, "Where's my prize, then. You're making this too easy."

"Alright," Harry acquiesces. "If you get this next go, then you can have all of the gelt."

"All of it?" Liam asks, eyeing the pile in the middle of their loose circle on the floor, and then eyeing the half-full container off to Ben's side.

Harry nods, and when Liam looks to Ben as if to ask him too, he nods as well, so Liam agrees, and they both spin their tops. Harry bows towards the floor and starts blowing at Liam's dreidel to get to tip over first, and Liam laughs while he shoves Harry away, saying, "Come off it, no fair, get off," without any heat in his voice, so Ben blows at Harry's dreidel to even out the playing field. Somehow, though, it manages to stay up and for the first time, Harry's dreidel's still spinning by the time Liam's falls.

Harry cheers at the win, and Liam makes a disappointed sound in his throat, saying that a bit of cheating went on, but Harry tells him, "You had back up," and points his thumb at Ben, "so a win's a win, mate."

"Take your win, then," Liam says. He scoops up a handful of the gelt from the center pile and pelts it one by one at Harry. "Go on."

Harry laughs as he tries to catch them with his hands and mouth, heedless of the foil wrapping.

Ben's already been not-so-subtly sneaking pieces throughout the game, so he doesn't exactly mind, but Harry and Liam'll both be sick to their stomachs if they try to down the entire container, and he's seen them do enough without interruption through all their filming and production to know that they would do. "You really want all of that?" he asks, gesturing to the container.

Liam stops throwing the gelt, and Harry pauses too, his eyebrows furrowing together in thought. "No," he says at last. "Reckon I've got enough already." It's true; his hands are full. He drops the gelt to the floor beside his leg. "Reckon I deserve a different prize, then."

"Go on, Hazza," Liam says, amused. He leans back onto his palms, tilting his head for a better angle into Harry's face. "Tell us what your heart desires."

Harry gives Liam this look — all dimples, his mouth smiling crookedly, gradually, slowly. His eyelashes are long and curling when he glances away from Liam to the floor instead where he's fiddling with the stem of a spare dreidel, twirling it between the tips of his fingers against his knee. He licks his lips. "Well," he says, "might be easier if I show you, rather." He looks up at Ben, his eyes wide open.

"Go on," Ben says, echoing Liam.

Although Ben had an inkling, he still isn't exactly prepared for the sight of Harry unfolding from how he's curled up to crawl on his hands and knees towards where Ben's sat with his legs stretched out, Harry's necklace swinging forward and glinting in the light, his rings tapping against the wood floor, his flannel falling away so that Ben can see right down his shirt, his eyes still painfully wide and open. When Harry reaches Ben's ankles, he wraps one hand around Ben's calf and tugs as if to urge Ben closer, but Ben doesn't budge, only lets out a quiet laugh, so Harry flashes him a grin and crawls until he’s settled right between Ben's knees. He sets his hands on Ben's shoulders, and then his face looms closer and closer, and Ben flutters his eyes shut so that he doesn't have to look or think.

Harry kisses his cheek first, then the edge of his mouth, and Ben can't help it — he breathes in sharp at the delicate teasing pressure; his mouth’s already tingling before Harry kisses him again, straight on the lips, no mistaking it. Harry's mouth's so very soft, and it gives easily, opens up warmly for Ben without him having to ask. Harry pulls away though after they trade only a few kisses, and Ben finally opens his eyes.

Harry's still sat on his knees right in front of him, his hands still steady on Ben's shoulders. His cheeks are a little flushed again, like when he'd been rolling around in the decorations on the floor earlier with Liam, and his eyes don't look so wide. He shifts around on his knees, and it draws Ben’s attention down and — Christ, Harry's already growing hard in his skinny jeans, his zip bulging.

Ben looks quickly back up to Harry's face, and he's certain Harry's about to ask if it's alright, if Ben's okay, but instead Harry says, "Have to finish collecting my prize."

He turns on his knees to Ben's side where Liam must've moved, because Liam's right there now next to Ben's legs, lying on his hip, holding himself up on one palm. Liam doesn't seem surprised either when Harry reaches for his face, cupping his jaw in one big hand. Liam only gives a breathy laugh, nudges his nose against Harry's and then they're kissing over Ben's shoulder.

It's nothing like when they'd shot-gunned earlier on the patio — their mouths open into one another, pink and slick, and Ben catches a flash of tongue. He hears Liam make a noise at it too, a quiet moan into Harry's mouth, and watches Harry's fingers tighten on the side of Liam's face, his back arching further.

They separate with a little wet sound, and take a moment to breathe. Ben's glad for it; he needs it too from trying to keep so still as to not interrupt, from trying not to tell them not to stop, from trying not to take each of their faces into his hands in turn and kiss the both of them again and again. He can feel the heat of Harry's thighs through both of their jeans from how he's angled over Ben, and Liam's hip and leg's right there too, trapping him in.

He's especially glad for the breather, though, when Harry pulls away from Liam and settles onto his legs again and says, "Now you two," looking from Ben to Liam.

"Only because you won fair and square," Liam says, grinning again. He turns his head to look at Ben, and his mouth's red, beginning to swell, his teeth white.

"Right," Ben says, clearing his throat, well aware that he's staring. "If this is what you want for your prize, Harry."

"It is," Harry says.

Liam tilts his head much like he had when he'd been nuzzling into Ben's jacket collar, and Ben wants to lift a hand to touch Liam's face, draw Liam in, but he can't unless he wants to lose his balance, fall clean over onto the floor, so he settles for twisting his shoulders to face Liam further, and Liam meets him halfway there — leaning in until their mouths touch. His lips are soft too like Harry's were, but Ben can feel Liam's stubble scraping against his own beard and that's new. Then Liam's opening his mouth up, and Ben finds that Liam's quiet moan feels quite different right against his mouth. He really, really wishes he could touch Liam's face, has to restrain from fucking his tongue into Liam's mouth just to feel his moan again.

Liam bites Ben's lip as he pulls away. Just as Liam opens his eyes and Ben gets to take in the sight of Liam's flushing face, his mouth absolutely swollen, more red, more wet — Harry's saying in a raspy breathless voice, "Again."

This is not at all how Ben thought the night might go when Harry rang him all those hours ago, but Liam shrugs as if to say _what can you do?_ and leans back in for another kiss, so Ben meets him halfway there.


End file.
